Frustration
by blumoone
Summary: Tara is faced with an inevitable pang that all vampires eventually must cope with.


**A/N: Hello my lovely readers, here's another one-shot out of the lives of our favorite couple for your reading enjoyment. As always, I ask if you have the time to drop a line letting me know what your thoughts, please do. The reviews really do make my day!**

**Happy reading!**

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"Tara what the fuck are you doing?" the regal blonde vampire drawled from the doorway that led into her and her other half's bedroom. Tara stood before their lush California king sized bed, shoving clothes into an old duffle bag. Mere moments ago the latter had angrily stormed out of the bar portion of the establishment and down to the sleeping quarters like a rabid bat out of hell leaving the former more than a little confused as she'd followed on her Child's heels.

"I'm gonna spend a few nights over Sookie's," the ebony skinned vampire said lowly, her voice laced with heat as she continued to shovel the clothes into the bag so violently that a pair of jeans and shirt missed the bag's mouth all together and tumbled to the floor. She bent to scoop them up without missing a beat and continued to stuff the bag without even sparing a glance at her Maker.

"Like _hell_ you are," Pam groused, trying to mask her growing fear at the thought her progeny just all of sudden packing up and jumping ship, _especially_ to board Sookie Stackhouse's 'Good Ship Lollipop'. She strode into the room, the heels of her shoes clacking loudly against the marble flooring, "You're not going anywhere and _definitely_ not that danger prone Tinkerbell's Neverland palace."

Tara rounded on her Maker, her obsidian eyes narrowed into deadly slits and her fangs descended with a solid click. "I'm sorry, _what_ did you just say?"

Pam's hand, aided with vampire speed shot out and grabbed one of the handles of the duffle, her patience level now hitting the negative numbers, "Did I stutter? I said you're not going _anywhere._" She gave the bag a sharp tug and the contents flew out and around the room, landing haphazardly in various locations – a bra on the dresser, a t-shirt on the lamp shade, toiletries scattered on the floor.

With a vicious snarl Tara struck out with a right hook but Pam caught the tight ebony fist before it could make contact, squeezing the tense digits in a cool vice grip that made her progeny hiss and wince in earnest but did nothing to quell the fire burning in Tara's obsidian eyes. With a raise of a single perfectly manicured brow, Pam unceremoniously flung her Child from her, sending the younger vampire crashing into the wall hard enough to rattle her teeth and create several hairline cracks in the plaster.

"Keep your hands to yourself honey and use your _words_," Pam goaded with hand on her hip, eying Tara through a narrowed cerulean gaze.

The condescending dry drawl only further incensed the ebony skinned vampire however and she charged at her Maker like a Spanish bull seeing red. The blonde caught Tara by the throat, the force of the attack causing her to stumble back a few steps. With a grunt, she hoisted Tara into the air and slammed her down hard onto their bed, covering her with her body and effectively pinning her down. Ivory fingers gripped a strong dark jaw even as Tara thrashed beneath her.

"What is _wrong_ with you?" Pam hissed, her voice tight with exertion, "Stop fucking fighting me."

After several moments of more futile struggling, the fight slowly bled from Tara's limbs and a bitter expletive burst from her lips. It was then that Pam could see the trembling pool of blood welling in her dark eyes and the blonde's grip loosened.

"Hey," she murmured; her tone gone soft as her brows furrowed in concern, "What's wrong?"

Tara pushed hard against Pam's shoulders but her efforts proved to be in vain as the older vampire wielded her superior strength. "Let me up," she muttered with a scowl, "Get off me."

"Come on now," Pam crooned on a purr, pressing her lips to the shell of Tara's ear and relishing in the involuntary shudder the action evoked. "Sure, I roughed you up a smidge but I know I didn't hurt you. You and I both know you're not that delicate. Tell your Maker what's wrong." Before Tara could open her mouth however, the blonde delved into her progeny's end of the bond. She was met with the initial anger of privacy being invaded but that quickly melted away into compliance. Then came the biting almost vicious anger that wrapped itself seemingly like a protective cloak around the underlying pain, longing, and utter frustration that had driven Tara's actions like a Maserati. The sheer force of it made Pam lean back with a gasp as if she had been struck, regarding her progeny through the bluest eyes that roved over Tara's ebony face as if searching every pore for the reason behind the hurt.

"I miss it," Tara said on a whisper, her voice choked with emotion as her gaze tried to focus on anything but her Maker, "I miss the sun. I miss the food. I miss stubbing my toe and still feeling it two days later," she allowed her tears to fall, twin rivulets of crimson that cascaded down her cheeks, "I miss my tears being fucking tears. I miss being human."

Pam was silent through the confession, taking it in even as the words were like blows to the chest. She had known this day would come, had been expecting it. But it still hurt. It hurt to hear her beloved grieve for the life that would have completely ceased to exist had Pam not walked into the Stackhouse kitchen in the exact moment that she had that night. Tara hadn't had a choice in the matter of her turning, had not had a say in acceptance or rejection. It had been nothing at all like it had been all those years ago when the former Viking had turned _her_. Back then, Pam's mind had already been made the night Eric had rescued her from that cutthroat in the alley. Yet even still, quite some time into her immortal life, she had been plagued with longing for her human life if only to be able to witness one more sunrise or to taste just a morsel of broiled shellfish washed down with even the tiniest sip of a Campari cocktail. But eventually those pangs had faded slowly with each star filled night until they had completely vanished altogether.

To put it simply, Pam knew exactly what Tara was feeling and she knew the pain, like all pain was only temporary. But until it began to fade, the blonde also knew there wasn't much she herself could do to ease it.

So she did the next best thing and pressed her lips to their mocha dusted counterparts, sending a wave of love and warmth and security down from her end of the bond to Tara's, hoping to chase all the bitterness and hurt if not _away_, to the furthest recesses of her progeny's heart. Tara melted into the heat of her Maker's mouth with a moan that was equal parts agony and relief. As their tongues met she could taste the tang of her blood tears combined with the unique taste of Pam that made her feminine flesh start to throb. With an unnecessary gasp, she broke the kiss and stared up into eyes fashioned from nickel flecked sapphire.

"I wouldn't trade you though," Tara whispered, the barest trace of a smile tugging at the corners of her kiss swollen lips as she playfully tugged a golden lock of Pam's hair, blinking back a wave of fresh tears, "For all the sunny summer days and the barbecue and Jack Daniel's in the world. If I didn't have you in it, life – mortal or immortal – just wouldn't be worth living."

It was Pam's turn to do the rapid blink thing as blood welled up in her own eyes, threatening to fall. "Oh I know it wouldn't cupcake," she murmured, trying and failing at her signature dry drawl, her tone was too breathless to complete the effect but neither of the two seemed to notice, "You need me. Who else would use your futile attempts to beat her up as a form of foreplay?"

Tara couldn't help the chuckle that burst from her throat as she pressed a lingering kiss to her Maker's pulse point, "I let you catch you that punch, you know. If I hadn't, that pretty jaw of yours would've been on the floor somewhere."

Pam snorted with a roll of her eyes, "Whatever you want to tell yourself to feel better darlin', by all means, carry on. Just don't stop what you're doing with your tongue."


End file.
